Framed
by 4. Black Queen
Summary: A Jean Grey/Emma Frost femslah.
1. Chapter 1

**THIS FIC IS NOT MINE. THIS MAGNIFICENT PIECE OF WORK WAS WRITTEN BY LEXUS GREY. I DO NOT WANT ANY CREDITS FOR THIS, MY ONLY INTENTION IS TO SHARE HIS/HER STORY.**

The cold, hard steel of the inhibitor collar did not sit well around Emma's neck. Though it was a thin piece of metal, it was still uncomfortable and in addition to its physical drawbacks, the one that bothered her most was the collar's function: inhibiting her mutant powers. She glanced across the cell at Jean, who looked about as pleased as she felt. They had been in this cell for two days together, excepting any time they were allowed out of it, and they hadn't spoken a single word to each other.

"Stop looking at me," Jean said flatly without turning her face from the window. She didn't need her telepathy to feel eyes boring into the side of her head.

"Fuck off," came the tart reply, and Emma leaned back against one of the side walls of the cell. She had taken the bottom bunk because she was afraid of heights, but naturally her excuse was that she couldn't be expected to climb a ladder to get into bed at night.

Jean hadn't cared either way... she was numb. Sleeping on the top or bottom bunk in prison was a choice she didn't see necessary to argue over. What meant something to her right here, right now, was the fact that Scott was murdered, and she and Emma were behind bars for a crime neither of them committed. No time to grieve over someone she once loved... and on top of that, she was stuck in a cell with his former Mistress. She had been trying to just ignore everything around her, and it had been working, but Emma's response was too much. The blonde was lucky they were fitted with inhibitors or she would have been scorched where she sat. As it was, she lunged at Emma too quickly for any evasive maneuvers, and slapped her face hard enough to draw blood from the corner of the White Queen's mouth.

Emma, shocked, put her fingers to her lips, and when they came away with a bit of smeared blood, her blue eyes went wide and she lashed out in return, dragging her fingernails across Jean's cheek and pushing forward, tackling her to the floor. "You bitch!" she hissed, a closed fist connecting solidly with the side of Jean's jaw.

Jean spit blood and growled, bringing a knee up sharply between Emma's legs and somehow managing to roll out from under her, toppling the blonde to the floor instead. She was on her feet, ready to pounce when she was pulled backwards out of the cell by a handful of guards.

"That's enough, ladies," one of them said, stepping between Jean and Emma, while another guard helped the prone woman off of the floor.

Emma tried to break free of the hold and go after Jean again, but yet another guard rushed forward to help restrain her. "Do we need to cuff you and send you to solitary?" the senior guard asked, looking at each of the two women in turn.

Both inmates tried to get their breathing under control, as well as their tempers. Jean stared a hole through Emma's cold blue eyes and snarled. "If I didn't have this collar on, you'd be wishing for death, Frost."

"As if I don't already, Grey," Emma shot back. "But it has nothing to do with you. Your worst couldn't even bring me to my knees. No wonder Scott had an affair."

Something broke in Jean, and all she saw was red, before everything went black.

When she came to, the redhead found herself in solitary. At least, she assumed that's where she was, because it was pitch black and she was laying on a cold stone floor in complete silence. She could hear nothing, see nothing, smell nothing, feel nothing. The only sense with any luck was taste, and it was the irony, metallic taste of blood. Not exactly encouraging. When she tried to move, a splitting pain assaulted her temples and she additionally found that her hands were cuffed behind her back. She painstakingly managed to get herself sitting up against the wall. What the hell had she done to Emma?

Emma groaned when she came to... she couldn't open her left eye and there was a sharp, yet throbbing ache in her chest. She very slowly opened her right eye, and shut it again when the bright fluorescent glow of the overhead lights made her head hurt more than it already did.

"You're awake," came a gentle voice from beside her, and Emma didn't recognize it.

"Where am I?" she asked, her voice coming out raspy and choked.

"The infirmary," the woman replied. "You're lucky to be alive. It took six guards to pull your cellmate off you."

"And as it is?" Emma managed to ask dryly.

"Two broken ribs, a concussion, stitches in your bottom lip and, obviously, your left eye is swollen shut."

"Bloody fabulous," the blonde muttered. "I didn't know she could wax Phoenix with that collar on."

"She didn't," the nurse said with a grin. "You must have just really made her crazy."

"Sleeping with one's husband tends to do that."

"You're extremely lucky to be alive," the nurse amended her earlier statement.

"Pardon me if I don't share your sentiment."

Jean didn't know how long she sat there in the dark, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, she heard the sound of keys jingling in the lock and the door opened, letting in a flood of light. Natalya, one of the nicer guards, stood with a frown on her face. "Have you calmed down?" she asked in her light Russian accent.

"Yes," Jean answered. "How bad was it? I don't remember anything."

Natalya's frown deepened. "Ms. Frost is in the hospital wing with some broken ribs and a few other problems," she informed Jean. "It took six of us to pull you away."

"Oh God," Jean said, wishing she could bury her face in her hands, but obviously that wasn't possible at the moment. "I- I just lost it. She knows how to push my buttons, and- oh God," she just repeated, feeling the sting of tears behind her eyes. Not that Emma didn't deserve a good ass-kicking, but Jean just wasn't like that. It wasn't what she was about, and she was quite fractured that she'd lost control like that and ended up hurting the blonde so badly.

"She had an affair with your husband, no?" Natalya inquired carefully, and Jean nodded so she continued. "Then try not to feel so very bad? She does not seem to hold any regrets..."

"No," Jean admitted. "She doesn't. But I don't like violence, and I just... I just became someone I don't like," she whispered softly.

"You did not do any such a thing," the Russian said adamantly, shaking her head. "Everyone of us makes mistakes. Each mistake does not have to change who we are. It is what we do about them that is the real matter. Matter? Is that how you say?"

Jean managed a small smile. "We say 'what is really important'," she answered. "But 'the real matter' sounds good, too, as long as it means I'm off my conscience's hook."

"You are not yet," Natalya said, returning the smile. "You have yet to make a choice regarding your actions earlier. What will you do?"

Jean let out a slow breath she didn't know she'd been holding, and shook her head. "I really don't know."

"We've got to get them out of there! At least Jean!" Ororo said, throwing her arms in the air and pacing back and forth in front of an agitated Sage.

"Stop. That helps nothing," Tessa ordered, unable to stand the nervous pacing. "Stand still and you have a better chance of staying focused. We need a plan. I can get schematics of the prison layout, you can create cover with the weather and knock out the power. But we need something better than that. We cannot risk being seen, or we'll be slapped with inhibitors. So we need to think. Can you do that, Ororo?"

Storm stopped pacing and abruptly sat down in the first chair she saw, resting her head in her hands. "Yeah," she answered wearily, and then more confidently, "yes."


	2. Chapter 2

"Good," Sage said, her voice slightly softer, though if you didn't know her, you wouldn't have noticed. "Ideas?"

At the weary and almost frightened look on Ororo's face, Sage relented with a soft sigh, walking over to gently straddle her lap. Strong, precise fingers ran through Storm's wild mane of hair, closing into fists at the nape of her neck, and deep red lips descended upon slightly parted ones in a chaste caress. "Ororo," she finally said. "Have I ever let you down? Have I ever been unsuccessful at anything?"

Storm lost herself in the brief kiss, glad for even the slightest moment of distraction from the horror that had been the past few days, and at Sage's question, she was able to relax, and even chuckle quietly. "No," she admitted, returning the kiss with one of her own. "Never."

"Precisely," Sage replied, giving a quick smile that was reserved only for her lover's eyes.

"I hate to have to do it, but before I can return you to your cell, the Warden wants to see you," Natalya said regretfully. "I am afraid you will not like it. You are new here, I feel I should warn you."

Jean lifted an eyebrow, and winced at the pain it brought to her head. "Can you uncuff me at least? I'm not going to do anything else stupid..."

"Yes," Natalya answered, and she led Jean out of the dark, cold cell and uncuffed her hands.

Jean immediately began to rub her wrists... they were quite sore from behing held behind her back and rubbed against the unyielding metal. "Thanks. How long was I in there?"

"Only a few hours," the guard responded, starting to lead the way to the Warden's office. "Do you not want my warning?"

Jean frowned. "I thought that _was _the warning," she said warily.

"No," the Russian answered, shaking her head. "She will beat you for being out of control. Not as you beat the blonde woman, but it is still a beating. I am sorry. I do not agree with it. But I cannot stop it, she is in charge and the authorities overlook it when money is exchanged of hands."

A sinking feeling claimed Jean's stomach, and a wave of nervous nausea washed over her. She felt like she was on her way to the principal's office at school. She had only been sent there once, but the memory was not pleasant. The feeling of dread she'd had walking out of the office and to her mother's car came rushing back to her now as she stood in front of the Warden's office door. "I-oh," she said in response to the guard's warning, swallowing hard.

"I am sorry," Natalya said again before rapping on the door. "I will be here when she is finished, to take you to your cell and see to you."

Jean really didn't like the sound of that, and when the Warden opened the door, she wished she could just crawl into a hole somewhere. The woman was scary looking, even by prison standards. She was tall, muscular, but not masculine at all, in fact quite the opposite... with finely chiseled cheekbones and piercing blue eyes, long dark curly hair and a raised eyebrow as she looked at Jean. Jean didn't think she looked like a Warden at all... more like a built porn star. But a scary one, somehow. Maybe it was the way she stood, or the haunted quality of those dark blue eyes. Yeah, this was nothing like going to the principal's office after all.

"Jean?" the woman spoke, and her voice was deep, rich, and lilting, but the word was laced with disapproval.

Jean gave a weak nod and looked at the floor, wishing she were anywhere else. Seriously, anywhere.

"Come in," she commanded, moving out of the way. Once Jean had shuffled inside, she closed and locked the door, and the redhead felt herself start to tremble. "Sit."

Jean sat down quickly in the indicated chair across from the Warden's desk. "I'm sorry," she said in a rush of breath, feeling ridiculously immature.

"That's a good start, but not nearly good enough, I'm afraid," the woman said. "Since we have not formally met... my name is Luciana Valdez. You may call me Ma'am." Before Jean could respond, she continued on. "I hear you assaulted your cellmate. That is not something we allow here."

Jean's head snapped up, tears welling in her eyes. "She slept with my husband," she tried to explain. "And she was... gloating about it!"

"And that gives you the right to send her to the hospital, does it?" came the clipped reply.

Jean wanted to say yes, but she didn't feel it would be well-received. "No, Ma'am," she finally forced herself to lie.

"You were out of line, and it's my job to keep you under control. Solitary is a last resort. You were placed there because I was busy, or you would have been brought straight to me."

Jean couldn't help noticing the heavy wooden paddle hanging on the wall behind Luciana, and her trembling got worse.

Luciana noticed the flicker of Jean's eyes to the instrument behind her, and she caught the redhead's nervous gaze. "Yes, I am going to use that on you."

Jean wanted to cry, and nothing had even happened yet! How did she manage to get herself into these kinds of situations? Actually, she knew the answer to that. Emma. Emma that caused her breakup with Scott, Emma that she was arguing with when they got arrested and thrown in jail, Emma that baited her into kicking the shit out of her, and now it was Emma's fault she was about to get... punished? Whatever the label, it was because of Emma fucking Frost. The woman was a walking nightmare. And worse than the things she did was the fact that she never regretted doing any of them. She didn't care what the impact was on anyone but herself. That's what made Jean hit her, more than anything else. "Please don't," she managed to choke out in protest.

Luciana's eyes hardened, if it were possible. "I will not have my prison overrun with brawls, is that clear? Now stand up and come here."

Jean wasn't sure her legs would hold her, but she did her best. She stood and walked slowly to the Warden's side, absently rubbing her still sore wrists. When the order came to bend over the desk, she almost didn't hear it, and even though she did hear it, she couldn't make herself do it. "I'm not trying to be difficult!" she gasped when Luciana stood and pushed her forward with an iron grip around the back of her neck.

Lucy ignored the whining and took the paddle from the wall, setting it on the desk next to Jean's shoulder. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of Jean's prison-issue pants and pulled them down with the aire of someone who did this often. It was all procedure to her.

Jean was horrified, but grateful at least that she was allowed the dignity of keeping her panties on. The gratitude disappeared as soon as she felt the first crack of the paddle against her barely-protected rear end. She cried out in surprise, a searing heat spreading across the point of impact and overtaking her senses with pain. She didn't know how many times the Warden hit her, because after twenty or so, it blurred into one throbbing ache, and each stroke couldn't be distinguished from the next or previous one. To her credit, though, Jean was relatively quiet, muffling the screams she wanted to let out, and she absolutely refused to let a single tear fall.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Lucy hung the paddle back on the wall and pulled up Jean's pants. "Are we going to have a need to repeat this lesson?" she asked sharply from behind the chastised inmate.

Jean let out a breath and sucked in another before trusting herself to speak. "No, Ma'am," she said tightly, hoping it was really over. Despite her stony resolve, she did not want a repeat performance, not ever. It hurt more than she would allow herself to feel at the moment, and she was only holding on to her composure by a very thin thread.

"Go, then," Luciana ordered, and she watched Jean gingerly stand up and walk out the door.

Natalya's comforting embrace meant the world to Jean, and she let the floodgates open, crying softly into the guard's shoulder. "Come on sweetheart," the Russian said softly, rubbing Jean's back. "Let's get you to bed." She led the crying woman back to her cell, which she would have to herself until Emma was released from the infirmary. Once they were inside, she turned back to Jean, who fell into her arms again gratefully. "I know, I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head as she comforted the inmate. "You'll feel better once you've had some sleep."

Jean wiped her eyes and murmured a soft thanks before turning away and crawling into Emma's bed. She didn't have the will to climb up to the top bunk just now, and she knew Emma wouldn't be back tonight.

Natalya gave Jean a wistful smile. "Please, call me if you need anything. Even just someone to talk to. I will not be far away, I have cell duty now on your block."

Jean nodded, but she didn't want to be a burden to the one nice person she'd met in here, so she knew she wouldn't call. When Natalya left, she curled up and let more tears fall, silently crying herself to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Emma was at least able to open her left eye a bit, and her concussion was gone. Her lip throbbed and her ribs hurt like hell, but she felt considerably better after some over-the-counter pain pills and a good night's sleep. The poor nurse was brand new, and whenever the doctor wasn't around, Emma managed to manipulate the intern into giving her something or doing something for her. So it was that she now had two pillows and a bowl of cereal with *non-fat* milk instead of low-fat.

Jean woke up with a throbbingly painful ache in her backside, and as she rolled over, something poked her in the cheek. "Ow," she mumbled sleepily, feeling around for the offending item. There was something inside Emma's pillowcase. Why would Emma have a sharp object in her pillowcase? If she were hiding a weapon, the best place would not be beneath her head...

The redhead carefully reached her hand inside the pillowcase and came up with a folded piece of paper. It was sharp because it was folded so many times that the edges were thick and pointy. An eyebrow raised, she was too curious to put it back, and she opened it up. She knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't resist. The handwriting was perfect, and as Jean started to read, she gasped in shock.

Anguish. Pure anguish, agony, red-hot searing pain shooting through my heart and leaving me open and bleeding. That's what it's like. Every day that I still draw breath, I hurt. No one knows because I can't let anyone in... it would ruin everything I've worked so hard for. But what does power and prestige mean if I have no one to share it with? Scott is gone now, unreachable, and my heart is broken. It was broken long before this happened, but now I know I'll never see him again. Someone did this to him, and made sure Jean and I took the fall. Oh God, there's a whole other subject. Jean. Perfect Jean. So beautiful, so intense, so powerful, so sweet... and I hurt her. I know I hurt her, but I didn't do it to hurt her. I did it because I couldn't stop myself, and because... Scott made me feel like I was worth something. Like there was a reason for me to exist. And Jean thinks I don't care. But why wouldn't she think that? I haven't given her any reason to suspect the truth. I never wanted to hurt her. I've always loved her. How can I express that? It's just not in me. She'd laugh, besides. And she hates me with a passion unrivaled by any I've seen. I deserve her hate, not her friendship. I slept with her husband, and the one thing I regret about it was Jean. Their marriage was over long before anything happened between Scott and I, but that's just an excuse, and there's no justification for what I did. For the choice I made. But God I wish Jean could know how sorry I am. I would spend an eternity in hell if it could erase one second of her suffering. I wish I was strong enough to tell her the truth, to say I'm sorry, but I'm not. I'm weak, she's strong, I'm broken, she's together. No matter what happens, she is calm and just and fair... she has more integrity than anyone I've ever met. I want to take her in my arms and kiss away the pain I caused... run my fingers through her hair and hold her close... wake up in the morning with her beside me. Because then my life would have meaning again. But I keep making the choice to be alone and proud instead of doing what my heart wants... and Jean deserves better.

Tears were streaming down Jean's cheeks as she folded the paper back up and replaced it inside Emma's pillowcase. Her hands shook and her stomach hurt. How could Emma keep all that inside? What had happened to her to make her so cold? How could anyone believe that pride was more important than companionship?

Jean's thoughts were interrupted when her cell door opened and Natalya came in. When she saw Jean's tears, she assumed they were due to physical pain... "Does it still hurt so much?" she asked gently, stopping beside the bed.

Jean dried her eyes and shook her head. "No... well yes, but... I'm not crying over that. It's- I'm fine... thank you Natalya. Is it time for breakfast?"

The guard nodded. "I'll leave you to get washed up; the door's open so you can come down whenever you're ready."

Jean was going to agree, but at the last second she called, "Is it okay if I skip it?"

Natalya turned back toward Jean, and it was clear that she wanted to ask questions, but instead she just nodded again. "Yes, of course," she said, and with a soft smile she left the cell.

Jean was grateful for the reprieve, because she wasn't hungry. And even if she had been hungry, she didn't think she could eat right now. And she couldn't sit down comfortably, either, which was not something she wanted to discuss with the other inmates. And oh God, what was she going to say to Emma?

Jean stayed in her cell and read all morning and into the afternoon. She just didn't feel up to yard time and socializing. Around two o'clock the warden stepped inside, and Jean was out of bed, standing at attention immediately, trying to look respectful.

Luciana gave a wry smile and gestured for Jean to relax. "At ease, soldier," she teased lightly. "I just stopped by to inform you that your cellmate will be returning in about an hour. Are we going to have any problems?"

"No Ma'am, no problems at all," Jean said quickly, shaking her head.

Luciana grinned. "Good. I suspect the bruises will remind you to keep your hands to yourself."

Oh, this woman was going down in flames when Jean got the damn inhibitor collar off. "Yes Ma'am."

The warden nodded and walked off, probably to torture someone else. Jean growled and climbed back into Emma's bed, curling up with her book. She intended to switch beds before the blonde came back, but she fell asleep, book in hand, reading glasses on and all. She awoke to an angry voice, a little muffled through her sleep-clogged brain.

"Get out of my bed, bitch."

"Five more minutes," Jean mumbled sleepily.

"Ms. Grey," came a second angry voice, that had Jean sitting up and blinking in no time.

"Sorry Ma'am," she rushed, standing up and moving around a smirking Emma to climb up into her own bunk.

Emma watched in amazement as the warden lightly swatted Jean's ass, bringing tears to the redhead's eyes. She watched in further amazement as Jean curled up under her covers and faced the wall in a very defensive, child-like manner.

"If she gives you any more trouble, just speak up," Luciana said before leaving the two women alone.

Emma was a little shellshocked at the whole scenario, and she picked up a deck of cards, climbing onto her bed to play solitaire. Jean's soft crying was hard to ignore, and after about five minutes of it she gave a loud sigh. "Would you stop that? I can't hear myself think," she snapped sharply.

"S-sorry," Jean whispered, wiping her eyes with her sleeve and trying to stop crying. It was hard, when her life had been turned upside down and nothing was going right anymore. The warden hated her and could make her life a living hell at the drop of a hat, she was locked up away from her family and friends, Scott was killed, Emma treated her like shit to cover up deeper feelings, and there was nothing Jean could do about any of it. Being so powerless was scary, and she felt so alone.

Emma blinked, freezing mid-deal and looking up at Jean's bed as if she could see through it and get a clue about Jean's odd behavior. She had expected a witty retort at the least, and another fight at the most. But Jean's apology and her defeated voice were alarming. "God damnit," she hissed to herself, and then hesitantly said to Jean, "do you want to come down here?" _Wonderful, Emma. Way to keep your distance_.

Jean didn't need to be asked twice - she backed down the ladder and crawled into bed with Emma, slipping under the covers and laying her head in Emma's lap.

Emma, who was brand-new to this, awkwardly laid a hand on Jean's arm and tried to comfort her with gentle stroking back and forth.


	4. Chapter 4

Emma's chaste stroking along her arm was eliciting sensations that Jean would rather not admit to. She shivered, and at a particularly pleasurable scratch of Emma's fingernails, she let out a soft moan, unable to stop it before it escaped.

Emma caught her breath, her fingers freezing in place... was this actually happening? It was impossible. She must have misinterpreted the noise, because Jean would never... ever... just no. Perhaps being locked up in here for the past few days had already gone to her head? She was imagining things now. Wonderful.

Jean found her courage and managed to exhale quietly, "don't stop."

Emma thought she had just died, because the excitement that Jean's whisper caused seemed to strangle her, making her unable to get air into her lungs. This was unbelievable. She wasn't imagining things... this was actually occurring. With a shuddering breath, she allowed her fingers to resume their gentle stroking up and down Jean's arm, afraid to do more than that and risk ending this fantasy.

"Oh Emma," Jean breathed, burying her face in Emma's side, mindful of her broken ribs. "I'm sorry."

Emma struggled silently, choking on her words, finding her vision a bit blurry. "I...'m... I... shit," she hissed, using her free hand to roughly swipe the tears away. "Jean, this is a bad idea..."

"I know," Jean murmured, pressing a kiss against Emma's side through her top. "But you don't sound so sure."

Emma dropped her head forward, blonde hair falling in front of her face, shielding her expression. "I'm not sure of anything anymore," she whispered.

"I don't think anyone is," Jean offered, snaking her left hand under the hem of Emma's shirt. "Let me see... lie down."

Emma let out a shaky breath, running a hand through her disheveled hair and laying back on the bed. She allowed Jean to lift her shirt, revealing the massive blue and purple bruises across her torso. She stared at the top bunk bed, unable to look at Jean.

"Oh, no," Jean cringed slightly, shaking her head. "I'm so sorry..."

"It's really fin-" Emma was cut off as Jean's lips descended on her bruises, feathering light kisses across her ribs. When she felt a warm tongue start licking a trail along each welt, her back arched involuntarily and she groaned low in her throat. "You'll kill me," she protested weakly, settling back down to the bed.

Jean responded by slowly pushing Emma's shirt further up, over one milky white breast, exposing the beautiful flesh, and closed her mouth over a rock-hard nipple, suckling blissfully.

Emma gasped when one of her breasts was revealed, and she whimpered when Jean started sucking on it. Oh, God. This had to be a dream. And what was this sudden interest in her health after beating the hell out of her? Not that she was complaining. She had wanted this ever since she laid eyes on the gorgeous, flawless redhead. She was pulled out of her musings by a hand stroking circles across her belly, playing with the piercing she wore there. "Oh please," she breathed, and then tried to retract the statement as soon as it left her lips. "I mean..."

"You mean please," Jean said gently. "And that's okay, Emma," she added, flicking her tongue back and forth quickly across Emma's nipple. "It's okay to say please once in awhile..."

"Not in my nature," Emma ground out between pleasurable little noises, rocking her hips up against Jean's hand. "But you're... amazing... so I can... make... an exception... Please..."

Jean didn't want to torture Emma any more than she already had, and she was extremely turned on herself now, so she didn't waste any time dragging Emma's pants down and off, tossing them over her shoulder onto the floor. "No panties," she observed, trailing her fingernails up the blonde's thighs.

Emma spread her legs without waiting to be asked, her hands holding fistfuls of sheets as she lay naked before Jean's hungry gaze. God, the Phoenix was hot. Even in a prison uniform, she was so incredibly hot. And Emma's icy exterior was gone in an incendiary flash as soon as Jean's fingers brushed through her curls, parting her lips and dancing inside of her. Her cries of passion echoed through the small cell, bouncing off the stone walls and pounding in Jean's ears like strobelights.

Emma felt so good, so warm and wet, and Jean's fingers slid around easily, drawing more and more screams from the woman beneath her as every thrust brought her closer to the edge. Closer to the flames Jean intended to plunge her into. She was amazed at how Emma reacted to her, and her own skin was flushed with both arousal and the effort of matching the pace of Emma's need. The wanton expression on the blonde's face drove Jean crazy, and she suddenly had to taste her. She dropped her head between Emma's thighs and sucked hard on her clit, rubbing her tongue back and forth over it firmly...

The pleasure speared up and outward and encompassed Emma's consciousness like an electric current, seizing her veins and pulsing the ecstatic sensations through her entire body. She screamed, uncaring of who might have been able to hear her, then screamed Jean's name, squeezing her thighs together tightly and letting the orgasm peak, then subside all in the span of a few seconds. The motions and tension hurt her ribs like hell, but it was worth it.

When Emma's body calmed, Jean withdrew and crawled up beside her, wanting so badly to kiss her, but the stitches in her lip would come out, and she didn't want to hurt her. So she settled for kissing her cheek and whispering sweetly in her ear, "I wish I could kiss you, Emma."

Emma made a soft mewling sound and turned her head to look at Jean. "I wish..." she trailed off, resting her forehead against the crook of Jean's neck. "I wish so many things." And then in a barely audible voice, she added, "and one of them just came true."


End file.
